


Postpartum

by tuesdaytelegram



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Attempted Murder, Child Neglect, Gen, Postpartum Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 13:25:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdaytelegram/pseuds/tuesdaytelegram
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or: Five times Winona didn't kill Jim (And one time she did.)<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Postpartum

**Author's Note:**

> A darker look at the relationship between Winona Kirk and her star-ship captain son. Contains a depiction of a severe form of Postpartum Depression called Prolonged Postpartum Psychosis, which can persist beyond infancy as a child grows into adulthood.

**i. Smother**

He won't stop screaming. Features scrunched, face red and feet kicking. Shrill screams reverberate in her eardrums. Burying her head underneath her pillow to block out the noise, Winona attempts to ignore the sounds. It should be her screaming, she thinks. She's the one who lost her _(lover, partner, soulmate)_ husband. She digs the heels of her palms against her ears.

"Shut up," she says and can barely hear herself over his screaming. '"Shut up," she tells him again, "Shut up, shut up, shut up. Shut up!"

The baby _(James Tiberius, J.T., Jim, no, Jimmy)_ keeps screaming.

She hurls her pillow across the room and throws herself from the bed. "Shut up!" she screams back, burning her knees on the flooring and stomping her way to his _(Sam's)_ cot. Her knees throb and for a moment she revels in the physical pain before it dulls and the gaping hollow in her chest overwhelms her again. She stands over the cot, imperiously. "You have no right to cry," she orders, "You didn't know him. You didn't love him. He wasn't yours."

The baby doesn't even pause for breath, eyes screwed tightly shut, and keeps on screaming. He can't be human the way he screams. A demon sent to remind her of what she lost. To scream and scream and scream until she loses her mind.

She won't let him.

Her heart stops at the thought. She won't _(can't)_ let him. He already took her George. She won't _(can't)_ let him take her too. She feels her heart start again, thrumming against her chest. The pillow across the room catches her attention, its white case stark against the brown of the hardwood floors. She moves to pick it up, her fingers closing around the soft _(womb)_ fabric.

Footsteps on the stairs. The door to the bedroom opens. Her mother.

"Winona! Can't you see the boy is hungry? Don't just stand there, looking dumb. Go on and feed him for goodness sake."

**ii. Drowning**

He is evil, she knows. He'd stolen George's eyes. Scratched them out of their sockets with his devil's hands. In the space of time when George had been dying and this child _(demon)_ had slithered out of her womb, it had breathed in George's life-force; sucked it away from him.

The boy slaps his hand against the bathwater and giggles at the splash. He looks up at her and babbles nonsense words like she's supposed to understand what he's saying. Cursing her, maybe. The door behind her is wide open and her mother is just down the hall. Winona can hear her humming. Her mother has yet to say anything, but Winona knows the woman is keeping a close eye on her interactions with the child.

This in mind, she coos at the baby and he crows with laughter. She snatches up the soap and runs it through his downy-soft hair. He shakes his head against it. "Uh-uh," he protests, "No."

"Come on, now," her voice is light, airy, affectionate. "We have to get you clean, baby." She doesn't say his name. Never does. He tilts his head at her and seems to shrug before surrendering himself to her ministrations. "Good boy. Now, we've just got to rinse it out." Her voice is just loud enough for her mother to hear.

She tilts him back into the water, hand supporting his neck, keeping his head above the surface. He looks at her with his _(George's)_ impossibly blue eyes. And all Winona can think is evil, evil, evil. Taking her hand out from under his neck, she lets his face fall under the water. He jerks, reflexively, hands splashing and legs banging against the side of the bathtub. She pushes down on his chest with one hand and grabs his legs in her other. "Don't want to get soap in your eyes," she murmurs.

The boy's mouth is open, trying to scream, but it's full of soapy water. Blue eyes impossibly glassy under the surface. His whole body writhes against her hands, fighting for his life, but Winona won't _(can't)_ let him have it. He took George's life and now she'll take his.

Hands under her arms and she's thrown away from the bathtub, smacking her head against the bathroom cupboard. Silence for several moments, then screaming. A baby screaming.

Two days later, Lieutenant Winona Kirk boards the galaxy exploration ship Antares.

**iii. Allergies**

Jim is five and still likes being called Jimmy. He likes the colour of the cornfields, the grime of soil on _(his palms, his fingertips)_ his feet and the gleaming red of his father's Corvette. And he is allergic to everything, ever. Sam tells her this on the ride back to the farm.

"Well," the CPS woman amends for the boy, "Not everything. You mother kept a list on the fridge."

Jim is quiet from where he is hiding behind Sam in the backseat. He watches her with his damned _(doomed)_ eyes and clings to his brother. "Can he talk?" she demands and watches the boy flinch in the rearview mirror. He'd hidden behind his brother at the spacedock and hadn't even deigned to smile at her, to at least pretend he was human instead of the devil child he actually was.

"Of course," the woman answers pleasantly. "He's just been having a hard time since--" Since her mother passed. Another person the demon had stolen away from her.

"He knows all his letters," Sam pipes up, "And he can write his name and my name and grandma." The older boy slings an arm around his brother. "He's really smart," Sam insists, attempting to endear the devil to her.

The CPS woman pulls up to the farmhouse and walks them inside. Goes over the basics. Fridge is stocked. Living room is pristine. Anti-allergy hypo is in the kitchen, second cupboard on the right. Jim has his own bed, but has taken to sneaking into Sam's in the middle of the night. Sam somehow convinces Jim to crawl into her lap and this seems to soothe any doubts the woman had about Winona's mothering skills. Winona smiles as she waves goodbye to the woman, clenching Jim's hand too tight.

"So," she addresses the  _(her)_ boys, "Supper, I think."

They make their way into the kitchen and Winona opens the refrigerator. "Who wants milk?"

"Jimmy's allergic," Sam protests from where he is helping his brother into a kitchen chair. "It's on the list," he points.

The list is seven pages long. It might have been easier to list what he wasn't allergic to. Spaghetti, she decides, finally. "Spaghetti," she tells the boys, "We have all the fixins for it." Including, she looks back on the list, cumin.

Sam approves. "Jimmy likes spaghetti, don't you, Jimmy?"

The younger boy nods. Mimes drinking from a cup.

"Water, then, too, boys."

She makes sure Sam is distracted with Jim before shaking a pinch of cumin into the sauce. Sam won't be able to tell the difference. Jim would never know what hit him. She doesn't bother to hide her smile as she dishes up their plates and puts them on the table.

Jim starts choking after the first bite. Winona catches him as he falls, lowering him onto the floor and pulling him into her lap. Sam's first instinct had been to go for the hypo and he appears by her side, forcing it into her hands. Jim looks up and sees the anti-allergy hypo in his mother's hand. She holds his head in her lap and strokes his fringe from his forehead, hands steady; face serene. Jim wheezes, desperately, clenching and unclenching his fingers around air, reaching for the hypo.

"Mom?" Sam asks warily.

"Shh..." It is a whisper, meant to be comforting. Sam shudders. "Your brother's trying to sleep." Jimmy shifts his weight toward _(Sam)_ the hypo, but Winona takes him back into her arms. "It's okay, baby," she comforts in the same thin whisper, "Go to sleep."

Sam takes a step toward the hypo. Winona doesn't notice. Another step. He tries to calm his breathing. Doesn't look at Jimmy who isn't breathing. Whose lips have gone bluish at the edges. Her words echo in his head. "Go to sleep, baby. Go to sleep. I won't let you take him. I won't let you take him."

He plucks the hypo from his mother's hand and saves his brother's life.

**iv. Neglect**

Jim Kirk is the brightest boy in Mrs Kimball's fifth grade class. Beautiful and mischievous, he is constantly in motion, flashing his bright _(puckish)_ smile like a sword glinting in the sunlight. Towheaded and tanned, clean and well-dressed like a Kirk boy ought to be. Whip-smart, too. Perfect grades, though sometimes he seemed bored of school. When she says bright, she doesn't mean clever _(though he definitely is that)_ she means he outshines every other person around him, blinds you like a supernova.

Eyes bluer than the sky; always fixed up like he can see something beyond. His attention is always elsewhere, but every time she calls him back to earth, he gives her an answer. Correct, of course, and recently turned monotone. As though it were something he wishes he didn't have to know. Come to think of it, he had seemed quite sullen as of late. His supernova light sucked up by those around him. Nothing left but a black hole.

"Jim," she catches his eye as the students begin collecting their belongings. "Would you mind staying behind and helping me clean up?" He smiles and opens his mouth to protest against the pretense, but she cuts him off, "Thank you, Jim."

He sits back down at his desk, crosses his arms across his chest, then thinks better of it and folds his hands in his lap instead. She closes the door and walks across the classroom, settling into the desk in front of him. She waits until the hall quiets down before speaking. "Jim, I heard about what happened--"

"I already had to talk to the school counselor," he interrupts quickly, glaring down at the PADD he has yet to pack up.

"Er. Yes, I'd heard about that, too." Driving a car over a cliff. Poor boy. "That's not... exactly what I want to talk about." She purses her lips. "Is everything alright at home?"

He shrugs, morose. She waits. He glances up at her before saying, "Sam left."

"Ah." His brother. "Yes, some sort of special science academy, right?"

Jim stares at her incredulously before nodding. "Yeah."

"You must miss him very much."

He swallows hard and nods his head, eyes locked on his shoes.

"Did he used to help you get ready in the morning? Make you breakfast? Older brothers are really useful like that."

He nods again.

She smiles at him, coaxing. "I bet he used to help you wash your clothes, too, huh? Made sure you got your homework done?"

He frowns, cautious, but still nods.

"You have a new stepfather now, don't you?"

She sees him stop himself from tensing. He looks up and smiles at her, brilliant and brittle. "Yeah. Frank. He helps me with stuff now. He misses Sam, too, though. And my mom." He glances over to the window, to the sky. "We miss my mom, too. So, it's rough, sometimes. But Frank loves me." She flinches at the lie. "He takes good care of me. We'll be okay. We just get sad sometimes."

He tucks his PADD away into his backpack and stands to his feet. Suddenly, she feels like this conversation is out of her control. Was never in her control. The light is back, furious and blazing. He shrugs his bag onto his back and looks innocent, shining. "Thank you, Mrs Kimball," he tells her earnestly, "It's good to know you really care."

She thinks that might be true.

**v. Abuse**

The call comes when she's off-planet, incommunicado, so by the time Winona actually sits down to her terminal and hears the message it's been two weeks since Jim was admitted. She hears the dutiful tones of a case agent informing her of Jim's late night trip to the ER. She sighs at the lack of information and tracks _(hacks)_ down the admitting assessment she is not meant to see.

_Twelve-year-old Caucasian male. Stature and sexual development consistent with stated age. Patient is alert and oriented to person, place, time and event. Appears anxious; posture is stiff and tense; exhibits fidgety movements. Left periorbital contusion and zygomatic trauma consistent with fracture from blunt force. Patterned defensive posture-like contusions to right forearm. Patterned fingernail-like scratch abrasions to left lateral neck. Humerus injury consistent with spiral fracture. Patient reports injuries are from 'A misunderstanding' and insisted 'It was an accident' but refused to give the name of attacker and deflected any further questions on the subject. Pattern of injuries is indicative of prolonged abuse. Recommend further inquiry. Child Protective Services notified._

Winona blinks and translates the medical bullshit. Black eye, broken cheekbone, twisted fractured arm--the whole report practically screams _(Frank)_ child abuse at her. She waits for the anger, for the guilt to build, to burn. Instead, she looks at the words and is relieved. Relieved. She should be horrified. She should be filled with righteous anger and a fiery need to get back planetside and swoop in and save her baby boy.

Instead she thinks _(god, yes, finally)_ he deserves it.

She deletes the message and makes a call to a man called Kodos.

**i. Tarsus IV**

Winona stares at the boy _(demon)_ walking off the shuttle and knows James Tiberius Kirk never made it back from Tarsus IV.


End file.
